Thanksgiving Correspondence
by BoomerCat
Summary: Ruth Tracy writes another letter to her friend


My Dearest Tina,

I haven't heard from you for a while, and you know how I get, so I am writing you today to ask how you are. Was the church dinner a success? When I told Jeff about it, his response was just like yours. "What's wrong with a spaghetti feed?" he said. Well, I for one, agree with Rev. Hicks. It's good to shake things up every once in a while, and it would do those farmers good to have to wear a suit and tie. Having said that, how did it go? Was there enough lobster? Did you make money? I want all of the details, dear, right on down to who got butter on their ties.

How is Mrs. McKendrick? The last time you wrote, you said she might have to go into assisted living. I know it's hard, but she's all alone out there in that big farm house, and it's downright dangerous. You know, I fought coming out here to the island. As you know, I consider myself an active senior, and by the grace of God, I haven't become frail or forgetful. But for all of that, once I got here, I realized just how important it is to have someone to take care of, and to be taken care of, too.

Now, I just realized that you could take that wrong, and please don't. There is a world of difference between living in town, with a part-time job at the high school, and withering away out in the country. Speaking of jobs, how are things at the school? You said that the new vice principal was making everyone crazy. Has she settled down? Or have you pushed her down the stairs as you threatened?

Can you tell that I miss you? I truly do, and I hope you will write soonest. I long for adult conversation. Yes, I know, I live in a household of adults, but there is just something special about talking with someone in your own generation, as I'm sure you can agree.

Well, now, here I am demanding information from you, and I haven't told you how things are with me. In short, all is well. That scare we had when Virgil had his accident is now behind us. He is fully recovered and back at work with his father and brothers.

Dear little Tin-Tin had a visitor last week. A rather handsome young man whom she met while studying in France. He was very nice, and he served a very useful function in making Alan jealous. I am hoping my thick-headed grandson will realize that he could lose this girl and will move things forward with her.

Oh, I must tell you about our Thanksgiving feast. Yes, I know Thanksgiving is not for a few weeks yet. How this came about was that Gordon had to go to Hawaii to the WASP medical center there for re-certification. Don't ask me why. He has stated over and over that he has no intention of re-joining. But he says he wants to keep his options open. Jeff thinks it's really just a matter of pride with him. He apparently wants to prove to them that he is just as fit as before his accident.

Anyway, he was going to Hawaii for a couple of days, and out of the blue, Virgil decides to go with him. There was an exhibition of French impressionists at a museum, and it was too good for him to miss. Jeff doesn't usually like to let two of the boys go off at the same time, what with all of the work they do for the company, but with that experimental whatsit being rebuilt after Virgil's accident, he figured there was no harm.

Well, I was involved in a sewing project, so I was not in the room when Kyrano decided to let those two do the shopping for Thanksgiving dinner. If I had been, I would have told him it was a disaster in the making.

Now, I know you're thinking, what could happen with Virgil along, and in most cases I'd agree. There is no one more level-headed than my Virgil. But as you may remember, he has that one flaw. From the time he was a little one, he has had three times the appetite of any of his brothers.

I don't recall if I ever mentioned the fact that when he was just a toddler, Jeff and Lucy took him to a pediatrician because of it. They were told it was a fluke of metabolism, and nothing to worry about. Well, they should have worried, I think. If it had been my son, I would not have given in so readily to letting that boy eat them out of house and home.

Now, of course, it is far too late to change his habits. All of the boys are healthy, active young men, and I think if you saw our grocery bills, you'd have a heart attack. But Virgil eats as if he has a tapeworm and an almighty hungry one at that. Heaven help him if that metabolic fluke of his should ever leave him, for I fear he would become as big as a house in no time.

Oh, my, I have digressed, haven't I? Anyway, Kyrano gave the boys a list of things to buy for Thanksgiving, things that you just can't get outside of the good ol' US of A. Things like Ocean Spray and decent sweet potatoes. And of course, a turkey. Now, we could have gotten the turkey from Australia or New Zealand, but Kyrano apparently figured if they are getting the other stuff, they could get the turkey too.

So, the boys went off to Hawaii, and Gordon got his re-certification, and Virgil saw his exhibition. The house was so quiet without them. I'd say peaceful, but that would be a lie, as Jeff worried from the moment they left until they returned. I would have scolded him for needless worry, but with that horrible incident with that young heiress from New York, I'll admit to a little niggle of concern myself.

Of course, on the other hand, with those two gone, Scott and Alan had a bit of time together, and I think it did them some good. When all of the boys are home, there is that whole sibling pecking order thing going on. But on their own, Scott and Alan rub along very nicely, and it was good to see them laughing and enjoying each other's company.

Anyway, in due course, Virgil and Gordon came home. It was only then that I found out that Kyrano had given them a list. I went on down to the hangar along with Jeff to welcome them home, and the first thing I noticed was a guilty look in Gordon's eye. I saw no such look in Virgil's eye, so I assumed Gordon had gotten up to no good behind his brother's back.

Virgil was quite full of himself. You'd have thought he'd won top prize at the fair he was so proud of himself. He strutted right up to me and said, "Grandma, you don't need to worry, we've got Thanksgiving covered."

I won't keep you in suspense, dear. As soon as he'd said it was covered, he marched over to the cargo hatch of the plane and opened it up. Tina, you've never seen so much food in your life. That confounded man bought five turkeys, not one less than thirty pounds. He bought a hundredweight of potatoes, and another twenty pounds of sweet potatoes. There was a case, I kid you not, a case, of cranberry sauce. Another of canned olives, and five one-gallon jars of green olives.

Both Jeff and I stood there, shocked to our very cores, and Virgil, bless his heart, was absolutely beaming with pride. I asked him what on earth he expected me to do with all that food, and as the Lord is my witness, he said he just wanted to make sure there was enough. And the sad thing was, he was totally serious.

Well, if we'd been in Kalvesta, I would have sent him straight back to the store to return it all, but of course, that's not realistic when the store in question is a couple thousand miles away. And in truth, I didn't really have the heart to burst his happy little bubble. Jeff sent him into the house to get a cart to carry it all in, and I just gave him my standard Granny line. "That's nice, dear," I said.

Both Jeff and I waited until he was out of earshot, then we turned to Gordon. He'd been standing there the whole time, but he's quite the magician when he knows the pigeons, or in this case, the turkeys, are coming home to roost. He had, of course, disappeared.

When I cornered him later on, he told me that reining in Virgil when he gets an idea like this in his head is like standing in front of a speeding locomotive and waving a hanky. Then he told me he figured we could take the extra over to the mission. I'm sure I've mentioned Saint Bart's over on Moyla to you. They do good work with a whole slew of the islands in the area. Anyway, Gordon told me he'd already put a bug in Scott's ear, so that Scott could convince Virgil that we didn't really need a thirty-pound turkey for each of the boys.

And speaking of missions, I'm including a check for the church for this year's holiday charity baskets. I know it is an ungodly amount of money, but Jeff has insisted, and of course, I know that Rev. Hicks can always find a use for it.

Oh, my dear heart, I miss you every day, and I look forward to your letters more than you know. Take good care of yourself this holiday season, and please, please, please, write soon.

Your dearest friend,

Ruth


End file.
